


Carry On Hawkeye (Extended Cut)

by taylor_tut



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e11 Carry On Hawkeye, Everyone Loves Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Gen, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: Just a short drabble from my tumblr. The prompt was for a little comfort scene for the episode Carry On, Hawkeye where Hawkeye is finally taken care of. <3
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	Carry On Hawkeye (Extended Cut)

You are lovely and kind and amazing and deserve everything you want! 

“Hawkeye, what do you think you’re doing?” Colonel Blake demanded, leaning heavily against one of the now-clean operating tables. Having taken three days to recover, he was finally feeling more steady on his feet, and when Margaret had told him Hawkeye had caught it, too, he’d immediately hauled himself out of bed to make sure that Hawkeye got into his.

“I think I’m cleaning up the OR,” he replied, “but I’ve been wrong before.” 

“You admitting to that makes me think you’re a lot sicker than you’re letting on,” Trapper added. When had Trapper gotten here? He and Henry were now standing in front of him, though he hadn’t registered them coming closer. God, he was cold. A shiver shot through his spine electrically, making his teeth chatter. 

“I’m serious, Hawk, why are you cleaning the OR? All the wounded are taken care of. You should be resting.” 

“Radar said there might be more coming in tonight,” he explained, exhaustion dulling his tone. “And everyone who is supposed to clean up after us has the flu.”

“So do you,” Trapper pointed out. “And besides, we’re all feeling a lot better now.” Hawkeye shrugged—honestly, cleaning the OR, not cleaning the OR: it didn’t make a difference to him anymore. He couldn’t possibly feel any worse than he did right now, so he might as well. He continued scrubbing at the table with a cloth soaked in isopropyl alcohol until Henry gently took it out of his hands. 

“Stop that,” he coaxed gently. “It’s clean.” 

Hawkeye shook his head adamantly. “No,” he argued, “it’s not.”

“You’re right,” Trapper admitted, “it’s not. Mostly because Typhoid Mary is the one trying to disinfect it.” 

He glared, but it was lukewarm at best. “If more wounded come in tonight—”

“Then the rest of us can handle it,” Henry reassured. Hawkeye blinked again, feeling resistance as he tried to open his eyes again. It felt like blinking sandpaper, having been awake for this long. He’d had a fever a few hours ago; Margaret had confirmed that, and whatever she’d given him for it at the time had long since worn off and he was feeling the full effects of the exhaustion and misery in his bones. He didn’t even register that he’d swayed forward in an attempt to keep equilibrium with what felt like a tilting floor until Henry was gripping his elbows firmly, saying something he couldn’t quite make out until he was sitting on the ground unsure of how he’d gotten there. 

“Hawk, can you hear me?” Trapper asked. When he nodded, he realized that a cool, wet rag was being pressed to the back of his neck, and he closed his eyes again, finally allowing himself to dissolve against the weakness and malaise he’d been restraining all day. “Easy. You sort of faded out on us for a second there.”

“I’m exhausted,” he admitted. Henry pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. 

“You’re burning up,” he confirmed what they all already knew. 

“I think you’re right,” he caved. “I just want to go to bed.” 

“Well, too bad,” Trapper said. “You need fluids, and I doubt you can keep enough water down to rehydrate you. We’re gonna have to place an IV.” 

Before Hawkeye could protest, Henry cut him off. 

“Don’t argue,” he instructed firmly. “This is my call, not yours. You’re not cleared to go back to the Swamp until that fever is below 102 and you’ve eaten at least a little something.” 

Too tired to really push the issue, Hawkeye just nodded. “Fluids actually don’t sound too bad right now.” He raised his eyebrows to Trapper even though his heart wasn’t in it and smiled. “And a sponge bath, assume?” 

Trapper chuckled softly as he helped to lift Hawkeye off the ground with Henry supporting his weight from under the other shoulder.

“Of course,” he agreed. “You know how much I love playing doctor. It’s why I enlisted.” 

The walk to a post-op bed was longer than Hawkeye would have liked, and by the time he was being laid down in it, his head was spinning again. 

“You did good, Hawk,” Henry praised, a rare moment of stoicism crossing his features. “But if you ever do something like this again, I’ll have you changing bedpans for a month.” 

He knew the threat was hollow but grimaced anyway. 

“Get some rest,” Trapper said, tucking the blankets up to Hawkeye’s chin gently. “We can take it from here.” 

Hawkeye nodded, and the sensation of a needle piercing his arm for the IV line was the last thing he was aware of before drifting off into a much-needed sleep. 


End file.
